Save The Gascon, Save The World
by Amynion
Summary: He watched the world through clouded eyes. It was a curse, a burden. One he had never asked for. Dead men formed from silhouettes of spilled ink. Was there nothing he could do to prevent the fall?
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** We've just had an eclipse. For a moment the world darkened and turned cold. So it seemed an appropriate time to post this. Think of it as an alternative season one with Heroes elements.

* * *

**Save the Gascon, Save the World**

**Chapter One**

_With sightless eyes he scribbled madly across parchment scattered on the floor. Lines of ink were scratched and swirled into shapes. He worked with an otherworldly focus that wouldn't be broken... not until his work was done. The scene quickly spread and took form, he was drawing so furiously that the bottle tipped over and ink ran like blood between the sheets… and then the quill dropped. He was done. A picture of devastation stretched before him - a young man lay dead, the ruins of Paris served as a frame to his demise._

Porthos strode to Aramis' door and knocked heavily on it. He hadn't shown up at the garrison. In trying to save his friend from weeks of mucking out, Porthos had told Treville Aramis was ill. But the man had probably drank too much the night before, or spent too long in another's bed.

"Open up Aramis!"

He knocked again.

"I'm sticking my neck out for you here! If you were with Madame de Bois-Tracey again I'll…" The thought occurred to Porthos that he should simply try the door. It creaked open when he did. "Aramis?"

He stepped inside and very nearly walked all over the papers strewn about the floor. "Oh no…"

It was haphazardly done, but the scattered papers unmistakably showed the scene of a dead boy amidst the ashes of Paris.

Aramis must have had another vision.

"Aramis?" Porthos stepped around the table and found his friend sat on the floor. Aramis was trembling while pressed up against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest. "You had a vision? A bad one?"

It was nothing unusual for Aramis to see images of death when he had an episode. That was why he considered his ability a curse rather than a gift. If he was lucky it would be something more mundane, shadowy figures in alleyways, a horse rearing against a full moon, or a chaste kiss shared by the well. But too often it was throats sliced open and men run through with dark stained blades.

Aramis just gave a slight nod in answer, his eyes were focussed on the middle distance. He didn't seem quite aware. Porthos came forwards to crouch down and put a gentle hand to his knee.

"It's alright…"

"No. It won't be." Aramis suddenly sat forwards and pointed at the scattered pieces of parchment. "Have you seen it? Look what I've drawn! Paris in ruins, burnt to dust…"

"It might not turn out like that, you know things are never that simple with the future." Porthos tried to be reassuring.

"No… this is different. This is bad, Porthos." Aramis took hold of Porthos' jacket and pulled him closer. "It was like… like…"

Only one word came to mind seeing Aramis so shaken. "Savoy?"

It froze Porthos' blood to say it.

"_Yes!_" Aramis hissed, his frame tensed and the hand clutching Porthos' jacket turned to a tight fist.

When Aramis had a vision he would draw with whatever he had to hand, but if there was nothing he had on occasion resorted to using his own blood. It was always the more intense visions that drove him to it. Porthos would never forget the day he found Aramis collapsed with his arms cut to pieces, blood seeping out across a tableau of his own making. It depicted a forest of dead men... The massacre at Savoy. When he recovered, Aramis thought he would be able to stop it. He hadn't long had his ability and was convinced he was being shown these terrible things so he could do something about them. He just ended up stranded in the snow with twenty dead musketeers. It was a hard lesson, but one Aramis had to learn. Sometimes you just couldn't fight the future.

"Then Athos needs to see it." Porthos' voice had turned grim. "Will you be alright while I fetch him?"

Aramis' hand loosened and fell away. "I'll be okay…"

It didn't take long to find Athos, he was in his usual spot at the tavern, and halfway through a bottle of wine to boot. Thankfully it took a lot more than that to dull his wits. The two of them rushed back to Aramis and all three stood looking down at the man's handiwork.

"So, this is what you saw?"

"Yes - Paris burnt to the ground and that boy… dead." Aramis said with a haunted tone.

"Did you see anything more about the boy? If we identify him we might be able to do something."

"You know it's never that simple." Aramis sighed.

"Still, we have nothing else to go on. What do you know about the boy?"

"Nothing…" Aramis looked down at his drawing, deep in thought. "Just… I know I have to save him."

**~oOo~**

"My name is d'Artagnan, of Lupiac in Gascony! Prepare to fight. One of us dies here!"

It was a few weeks later when d'Artagnan stormed into the garrison courtyard intent on blood.

"Now, that's the way to make an entrance." Aramis wryly pointed out as he paused on the stairs.

While Athos and the boy set to crossing swords Aramis suddenly felt a stab of fear assail his heart. The boy… it was the one he had drawn amidst the ruins of Paris!

"Athos! Put up your sword! It's him!"

"What?!" Athos turned to look at Aramis and d'Artagnan chose that moment to rush forwards.

Instinctively Athos raised his blade, but d'Artagnan was coming in too fast to pull back. The rapier impaled him through the chest.

"Athos! No!" Aramis yelled and dashed down the stairs to catch the boy's falling body. The musketeer lowered him to the ground and frantically tried to stop the bleeding. "Porthos, call for a surgeon. Athos, you fool! It's the boy from my vision. It's happening… He's dying…"

Athos stood in stunned shock, his bloodied sword still held out. While Porthos crouched next to d'Artagnan and held a hand beneath his nose. "He's not dying, he's dead. I don't think a surgeon will do him any good."

Finally Athos came back to himself. He wiped off his blade before sheathing it. "And yet, Paris still stands. Are you sure it's the same boy?"

"Yes, I know it's him. He's the one I saw, as clear as day. I'm telling you, Athos, he's the one…" Aramis shook the boy's limp frame in vain hope he would wake. His head just lolled lifelessly.

"Well, something is amiss. In any case, I didn't mean to kill him." Athos looked down at the boy with something approaching regret. "Still, if he was going to make a habit of challenging men to duels and then running into their swords, he was never going to last that long in Paris."

Suddenly d'Artagnan heaved in a great gasp of air and his eyes shot wide open. The three men started and Aramis gave a surprised yell. He pulled the boy's shirt open to reveal smooth unmarked skin where the fatal wound had been. "You're alive!"

"I am... " d'Artagnan looked up at them all with an equally shocked expression.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for pointing this out, but isn't it a little churlish to challenge a man to a duel when you know you can't die?"

"I didn't know…" The boy put a hand to his chest. "I can heal, but I've never_ died_."

"Don't you think we should be having this conversation somewhere a little more private?" Porthos looked around warily before bending to help d'Artagnan up.

The garrison courtyard was thankfully empty, but you always had to watch for prying eyes. It paid to be careful. Those with abilities kept them hidden. The general populace didn't know about them and it was thought best to keep it that way. Of course, nothing happened in Paris without the Cardinal knowing. Thinking them dangerous he had made it a personal crusade to eradicate every man, woman and child with abilities. His red guard and spies were always on the lookout, and if anything slightly suspicious occurred a charge and summary execution would follow in short order. And so when abilities manifested anyone with any sense got out of Paris. Ninon secretly helped shelter and relocate as many as she could, but those who weren't that lucky more often than not ended up in the Court of Miracles. At least there you could be sure nobody would report you to the authorities...

After bundling d'Artagnan inside, the three musketeers sat him down at a table. Athos went to pour them all a drink.

"So, you're one of us then?" Porthos asked.

"You're all gifted too?"

At that Aramis gave a bitter laugh. "This is anything but a _gift_."

"It's just what my father used to say." d'Artagnan looked away for a moment. His voice was tainted with grief. "He said that my ability to heal was a gift from God."

Aramis leaned forwards on the table and spoke viciously. "More like a curse from the devil."

"Aramis…" Athos placed a glass in front of him and put a hand to his shoulder before taking a seat.

"What? I only speak from experience. To have visions of death and destruction would be enough, but then having to watch it all happen…" Aramis took a large gulp of wine and sat back sullenly.

d'Artagnan looked at the others questioningly.

"Don't mind him. Aramis sees the future, he sketches it all out too. It can be a bit of a burden." Porthos shot a quick look at Aramis who was busy studying the contents of his glass.

"And you, what can you do?"

"Me? I can do this." Porthos grinned and reached towards a candle in the middle of the table. He rubbed his fingers together at the wick and it burst into flame.

d'Artagnan's eyes went wide.

"Impressive, huh?"

In truth it had taken a long time for Porthos to accept his ability. For most of his life he had resented it, much like Aramis. Growing up in the Court took its toll, when it was discovered Porthos could create and manipulate fire there were people more than eager to take advantage. He found himself as an enforcer for the more unsavoury characters of the Court. The threat of burning to death was enough to rule most by fear, but for the defiant ones Porthos had to take action. He came to see his ability as an instrument of destruction, with himself the destroyer. It was only when he escaped that life and became a musketeer he began to see things differently. There was a time the three musketeers became stranded in the snow, Porthos kept a fire going and saved their lives. His ability could be used for good after all.

"That certainly is… something. I haven't seen anybody create fire before. But I only know the two gifted in my family. Are there many different kinds?"

"There are lots I've seen, and I'm sure there's more out there I haven't. Some can freeze water, others have enhanced strength, or can read minds. I've seen men who can run faster than a flying musket ball, and ones who can disguise themselves as other people. I've heard there's a man with the power of flight, but _that_ I would have to see with my own eyes. Oh, and of course there's what Athos has…"

d'Artagnan looked up at Athos only to find he had gone. He twisted in his seat, searching for the other musketeer.

"Where did he go? I didn't see him leave…"

Porthos just grinned.

"That's because I didn't."

d'Artagnan nearly fell out of his chair when Athos appeared leaning against the table right in front of him. Even Aramis gave a slight smirk.

"Invisibility… you can disappear?" The boy managed between breaths.

"Indeed. A useful ability to have when one enjoys a bit of solitude."

Often when Athos wanted to wallow in wine and darkness he would simply disappear. Aramis and Porthos had long ago learnt it was useless to try to find Athos or convince him to reveal himself. He would reappear when he was ready. Ever had Athos been one for quiet introspection. He wished himself invisible so often, he was quite surprised when his ability manifested and he actually disappeared.

"Look, you should go home." Porthos turned suddenly serious. "Paris isn't safe for people like us. The Cardinal wants to off us all."

"No, he should stay here, with us." Aramis leaned forwards, interrupting eagerly. "We can keep him safe."

Porthos caught the pointed look Aramis threw at him. If d'Artagnan was part of the vision it was better to keep him close at hand.

"Besides, if Athos didn't kill my father, somebody else did. I came here for revenge, I won't leave without it." d'Artagnan straightened in his chair and eyed the three men.

"Very well. But if you're going to be stopping with us I'll need to teach you how to use that sword properly." A small smile tugged at the corner of Athos' mouth as he headed for the door.

d'Artagnan followed the older musketeer out with a stream of protests on his lips.

As soon as the door was closed Aramis turned to Porthos. "We should tell him."

"No, not yet. He's only just met us, what is he going to think when you tell him he's going to die and all of Paris perishes with him? He might go running off never to be seen again. I know I'd be tempted."

"Maybe you're right, but it just feels wrong to keep him in the dark."

"Well, as we've found out often enough, knowing the future doesn't always help." Porthos said pointedly.

"Quite… There is one thing I'm curious about though - In my vision the boy was dead. How do you kill a man who can't die?"

Porthos shrugged. "Maybe there's a limit on the resurrections. Like a cat with nine lives."

"Hmm… in any case, we had better keep a close eye on him. Whether or not he'll come back I'd rather not put his life at risk if we can help it."

"Speaking of - we should get out there and make sure Athos doesn't kill the lad… _again._"

The two men got to their feet and opened the door, just in time to see Treville arrive with company.

"Athos, I'm sorry. These men have come to arrest you. You're to appear before the King immediately, charged with robbery and murder. I promised them there'd be no trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** I AM SO SORRY FOR LEAVING THIS FOR SO LONG! I lead a busy life, which on occasion goes from busy to insane. If I'd known it would be this bad I probably would have held off on posting and gone on a bit of a hiatus. (I'm so annoyed, I've got so much stuff I want to share that's half done/just needs editing, and I've had zero time to work on it). So I'M SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME!

The quote is from Radical Face's "The Crooked Kind".

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**Chapter 2**

_So collect your scars and wear them well  
Your blood's as good an ink as any_

They managed to save Athos from his untimely end. It had all been a scheme of the cardinal's making, not that anything could be done about him. The man was practically untouchable. Meanwhile d'Artagnan had started to become a fixture in the garrison. He accompanied the three musketeers on their missions and the boy had acquitted himself most admirably. Particularly when it came to dealing with the criminal Vadim.

The four men were at Athos' lodgings enjoying a meal and celebrating another successful mission after seeing Bonnaire into the hands of the Spanish. Despite their reasons for high spirits Athos was quiet and well into his drink. It was not unusual, but there seemed more of a depth to his sorrow this night. Still, Athos was keeping his reasons quiet, and his friends would not pry. If he was content to ignore it, they would be too.

With the wine and good humour flowing - save for Athos - d'Artagnan had thought it the opportune moment to broach a certain subject. The others had been quite overprotective of him, especially Aramis. It was starting to get a little irritating, not least when the man pushed him aside and nearly took a sword blow.

"I don't need coddling, besides, you do know that if I'm hurt I'll simply heal right?" d'Artagnan asked, half exasperated and half amused.

"Well, it might look a bit suspicious if you're stabbed and then carry on walking around as if you'd just nicked yourself shaving." Porthos said with a grin.

"The cardinal would find out." Aramis gave the boy a serious look. "We have to keep these abilities secret. As helpful as they are… well, as helpful as_ your _abilities are, you cannot parade them about for all and sundry to see. Porthos doesn't go flinging fireballs around the battlefield now, does he?"

d'Artagnan couldn't suppress a laugh. "He doesn't, but it's something I would dearly like to see!"

"Don't tempt him." Aramis' tone lightened a little. "He'd have us all out of a job if he could obliterate our enemies with one raised hand."

"You're wrong my friend, I could do it with one raised finger, nay - an eyebrow!" Porthos said with a raucous laugh.

After that Aramis seemed to drift a little from the conversation. Porthos could talk enough for all of them and he carried on regardless, only shooting a concerned glance to Aramis when the man winced and put a hand to his temple.

Wordlessly Athos got to his feet and went to place a bit of charcoal and paper by the young musketeer's elbow. He also retrieved another bottle of wine for himself before resuming his place at the table. They carried on eating and drinking while Aramis went suddenly still and silent. Athos and Porthos almost didn't seem to notice when the man's head shot up with clouded white eyes. They had gone through this time and again, it seemed a simple matter of routine for them. On the other hand this was the first time d'Artagnan had witnessed one of Aramis' visions. He stopped eating and watched his friend in stunned silence. Aramis picked up the charcoal and started sketching furiously. He seemed like a man possessed by the devil, if d'Artagnan didn't know any better he would have ascribed it to witchcraft.

Porthos had continued talking quietly with Athos giving the occasional nod as his contribution to the conversation. Only when d'Artagnan heard his name did he look away.

"d'Artagnan? It's a little disturbing, I know, but he'll be alright." Porthos inclined his head towards Aramis. "It always happens like this, he'll go quiet, get a headache and start drawing. We've learnt to keep paper and ink close to hand. He'll come out of it in a moment."

"His eyes though…" d'Artagnan's gaze was drawn back to Aramis. The man was still drawing, his hands moved so fluidly around the paper, it didn't seem human.

"Whatever he's seeing, it's not here." Porthos said grimly.

The charcoal dropped from Aramis' fingers and he sat back with a heavily exhaled breath. The mist cleared from his eyes, but he still seemed a little detached from reality. Aramis stared across the table, seeing nothing.

"Aramis?" Porthos tried. "Are you back with us?"

Slowly the man blinked and became a little more aware of his surroundings.

"There you are." Porthos dropped his eyes to the drawing. "What is it this time? Me winning at cards I hope."

Aramis looked down at his work and the reaction was immediate. The young musketeer shot back from the table with a gasp, his chair fell to the floor and he staggered to the window. He pushed it open so violently it was a miracle the glass didn't break.

"Aramis?" Porthos got to his feet and made his way over. The only answer was Aramis' ragged breathing.

Athos moved to look at the drawing. It depicted a masked man with a length of rope. "Aramis… who is this?"

With Porthos' hand to his shoulder, Aramis turned around to face them. His face was pale and his expression haunted. "It's Marsac. He's coming back."

**~oOo~**

Just as Aramis foresaw, Marsac returned, and he was filled with a thirst for revenge. Aramis quickly became ensnared in his cause, and who could blame him really? Twenty musketeers had been killed and nobody had been brought to justice. Still, Porthos was concerned Marsac was going to go down in flames and drag Aramis with him.

It was early when Porthos made his way to Aramis' lodgings, intending on having a quiet word - or a loud one, depending on how his friend reacted. On stepping inside he found Aramis sat at the table, head in his hands, leaning on a drawing. The man looked up, startled by the intrusion. Porthos noted his red, sorrow stained eyes.

"Aramis? What is it?" He stepped towards his friend.

Aramis said nothing, he just sat up a little straighter and pushed the paper over to Porthos. The lines of dark ink formed a man standing over a cross in the rain.

"That's me." Aramis' weary finger landed on the figure, smudging it slightly. "And that's Marsac." His finger slipped towards the grave, dragging a trail of ink with it.

Porthos was quiet for a moment, taking in what this meant. Some part of him was pleased there weren't two graves depicted on the page. However Marsac was going to die, at least he wasn't going to take Aramis with him. Still, this was a blow for Aramis, the two of them had been friends once, and the shadow of the massacre stood at both their backs.

"Will you tell him?"

"No… I might doom him by telling him. Too often you meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it. Besides, he doesn't know about us. I can't risk it. He'd probably think me mad anyway." Aramis ran a tired hand through his hair. "What can I do?"

"I don't think there's much you can do. Unless you want to tie him up in some dark corner of Paris until you think it's safe?"

Aramis gave a broken laugh. "How am I supposed to know when it's safe? It's _never_ safe."

"Then you'll just have to wait for fate to take its course." Porthos put a hand to Aramis' shoulder.

"There has to be something…" His voice was hollow, he sounded so drained.

"All you can do is watch his back and be a friend to him. A better friend than he was to you anyway." Porthos spoke bitterly.

Aramis looked up at Porthos with the ghost of resentment deep in his eyes.

"What?" Porthos held his hands up in a placating gesture. "The man left you alone in the snow to die. That's not very friendly."

"You weren't there Porthos, you can't pretend to know what it was like…" Aramis looked away, back at his morbid drawing.

"I saw it afterwards, I saw _you_ afterwards. And I saw you through it, the screaming, the nightmares, _everything_. That's what friends do."

Aramis reached out to rest a hand on Porthos' arm. "And I am grateful for it."

"You don't need to be, that's what friends are for." He put his hand back on Aramis' shoulder. "Just watch his back, and watch your own as well."

"Isn't that your job?" Finally Aramis let a small smile pull at his lips.

"Yes, but I'd never get anything else done. A man needs a break you know?" Porthos said with a grin.

**~oOo~**

"_I'm sorry, old friend…_"

Events wove together and tore apart around Treville and Savoy. Guilt, justice, revenge… It all came down to the measuring of lives. One for twenty, or twenty one. It turned out Marsac was destined to die by Aramis' own hand. He ended up killing the man he was trying to save.

After Marsac was buried Aramis went missing. Athos supposed he wanted some time to himself and was content to let him be, but Porthos was persistent in arguing that Aramis shouldn't be alone. So they split up and set out to find him.

It was Athos who came across Aramis first. He was in one of the more obscure taverns and well into his drink if the nearly empty bottle was anything to go by. Athos pulled a chair out and sat down without a word, he reached for the bottle and waited for Aramis. He would talk if he wanted to talk. Aramis was still slightly wet from standing out in the rain by Marsac's grave. His damp hair curled and hung about his face, almost giving him something to hide behind. Eventually he slumped a little further across the table and turned to give Athos a joyless smile.

"Wish I could disappear." Aramis' voice was quiet and dangerously close to slurring.

"Well, I'm glad you can't. I see how much it frustrates you and Porthos when I… go missing." Athos shot a look around the room. "But such talk is not for places like this. Why don't I take you home?"

"Why don't you join me? Sorrow drowning's your business isn't it?" Aramis managed to clumsily push himself upright and call for another bottle.

"And from my vast experience I can tell you that you will regret it tomorrow morning."

The bottle came, and another glass with it. Athos didn't object when Aramis started pouring him a drink. He simply gave a world weary sigh.

But Aramis didn't seem to notice the glass was nearly full. He kept on pouring and Athos was too late in snatching it from his hands. Wine ran over the brim and spilled across the table. Dark and red it spread. Aramis shot back from the table, nearly falling from his chair in the process. Athos reached for his arm to steady him.

"Aramis? Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry." The young musketeer's face was full of shock. His eyes darted around the table.

"It's just wine." It didn't matter, there was nothing to apologise for… or had he meant to reassure Aramis? _It's just wine… it isn't blood_.

Athos gave Aramis' arm a squeeze before letting go.

"I need to tell him." Aramis' eyes suddenly came to a sharp focus. "He needs to know."

Confusion furrowed Athos' brow. "What do you mean?"

Just at that moment Porthos and d'Artagnan stepped into the tavern. They scanned the room and its occupants before the lad pointed out their position. Suddenly Aramis lurched to his feet and staggered to meet them.

"Steady!" Athos followed him closely.

"There you are!" Porthos shouted happily as he stepped forwards to meet Aramis.

But Aramis ploughed past him and went straight to d'Artagnan. He placed a hand on the lad's shoulder. Though it was intended as a comforting gesture it seemed d'Artagnan was simply holding him up.

"I'm sorry, but you need to know." Aramis' other hand came to clutch at the boy's doublet. His words were fast and a little confused. "I didn't tell him and maybe I should have done, if I told him what I saw I might not have killed him. I didn't want to, but I had to, I had to make a choice…"

Porthos gave Athos a look of confusion behind Aramis' back.

Athos returned it with a look of alarm. Aramis was dangerously close to saying more than he should. "Maybe we should take this outside? Porthos?"

While Athos went to get the door Porthos stepped forwards to pry Aramis away from d'Artagnan. "Come on, I think you've had enough for tonight. Let's get you home."

"But he needs to know…" Aramis was compliant as they led him out of the tavern, but once they were on the streets he managed to twist out of Porthos' grip and latch back onto the lad. Thankfully it was quiet out at this late hour.

"What are you talking about, Aramis?" d'Artagnan supported his friend as best he could while he was being clutched at.

Suddenly Aramis stilled and seemed to sober as his eyes met d'Artagnan's.

"I saw you die." He said with a hollow voice.

d'Artagnan swallowed heavily and paled slightly. "When?"

"Before you met us…"

"Aramis." Porthos stepped forwards and put a hand to his friend's shoulder, making as if to pull him away.

"No. I want to hear what he has to say." d'Artagnan's voice was cold and hard.

Athos fixed him with a serious eye. "Knowing doesn't always help."

"Aramis, tell me what you saw." d'Artagnan spoke calmly, though his eyes were full of fear.

"You were dead, and Paris lay in ruins at your back. It all turned to ash and dust. There was nothing left... there was no one left." Aramis' grip tightened on the lad. "I wanted to keep you safe, but I couldn't keep Marsac safe. I had to tell you. I might fail again… I _will_ fail again. It will come to pass. I'm sorry."

"But… I can't die." The boy sounded so lost.

"You can, you will." Aramis' eyes were full of sorrow, his grip on the boy's doublet loosened.

Porthos took Aramis' weight as d'Artagnan stepped back to slump against the wall they stood by.

"I'll get him home." As Porthos led Aramis away the young musketeer's eyes lingered on d'Artagnan. He looked as if he were watching a ghost.

Athos moved forwards to block Aramis from d'Artagnan's view. "It might not happen... not like that."

"Did you see it?"

"I did."

"And it was just as he described?"

"It was."

"How many of Aramis' visions come true?" d'Artagnan searched Athos' face as the man hesitated. "Tell me truthfully."

"Most of them." Athos admitted reluctantly. "But not all of them."

Not all of them could be verified - and that was the truth of the matter.

The boy seemed to wilt a little more.

"Look, whatever danger is coming we _will _fight it. You're as good as one of us now, and we do not give up our brothers so easily. Aramis is just lost in his own darkness, if he were himself he would not have condemned your chances so completely - there is a chance. So pay his words no mind and do not dwell on what may never come to pass. A man can easily let his grip on life slip when he is obsessing over his own death. You have to fight this."

d'Artagnan took a deep breath and pushed away from the wall.

"I'll prove Aramis wrong." He sounded a lot stronger than he looked.

"We all will." Athos added, with a rare encouraging smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note**: Oh look! A new chapter! I bet you all thought I'd died. I cannot apologise enough for the delay in getting this to you. Thank you everybody who has shown an interest in this story, and I hope you'll forgive me.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Events were rapidly going downhill. Porthos was the next to get dragged down by the claws of an old life. He ended up back in the Court, and unknowingly caught up in one of the Cardinal's schemes. It seemed Richelieu was making a move against those with abilities in the Court. Under the guise of ridding Paris of a troublesome quarter he had explosives moved in and intended to blow them all sky high. Thankfully the plot was foiled, but it had stoked up such anger in the Court. There was talk of an uprising. People were finding the will to fight back.

Despite all of this the musketeers still had their duties to attend to. It was a hot summer's day when they stood on parade, waiting for a visiting dignitary to appear. The four of them stood in a line, as still as possible, all fighting the urge to wipe sweat from their brows and open up their collars a little more.

"Don't glare." Athos hissed under his breath.

Porthos was staring at the Cardinal with a look foul enough to strike him dead.

"_Porthos._" Athos dug an elbow into his friend's ribs.

It broke Porthos' gaze. He near enough growled. "How can he stand there? How can he…"

"Hush… you can be angry at him later." Athos let his eyes wander down to Aramis who had bowed his head and put a hand to his temple. "Aramis?"

Porthos lightly touched his elbow. "Are you alright?"

A strangled "No…" came from beneath the brim of his hat.

Athos whispered a curse under his breath. "Porthos, find Treville, tell him Aramis isn't well and ask him to send for replacements. d'Artagnan, help me get him out of here."

The Captain knew about them of course. He would understand when he was told Aramis wasn't well. This wasn't the first time it had happened. Though Treville didn't have an ability himself, he was a sympathiser and did his best to protect the musketeers from any suspicions. There was more than a time or two they had nearly been caught out.

Athos and d'Artagnan flanked Aramis and steered him out of the palace grounds. They hurried him through the streets, hoping to get him out of sight before the vision kicked in. There were few people about, with the heat of the day most had sought shade and shelter. But if even one person saw him it would be enough. Aramis let out a broken whimper and his head fell forwards.

Athos shook him. "No Aramis, just a little further. My quarters are not far away, you can make it."

Suddenly Aramis' legs gave way and he dropped to his knees, nearly dragging Athos and d'Artagnan down with him. They let go of his arms and his hand immediately reached for a stone. Athos grabbed him again quickly.

"Not here, Aramis _please_… we're nearly at my lodgings."

But when the musketeer looked up, his eyes had clouded over with an impenetrable white mist.

Panic took hold of Athos' heart when he saw a couple, arm in arm, approaching down the dusty street. They were walking slowly, chatting and laughing, absorbed in each other, but if they got any closer...

"Get him up." Athos barked out, and the two of them hauled Aramis to his feet. "Down there, quickly."

An alleyway branched off the street to their right between two tall buildings. They dragged Aramis towards it, his feet slipped and stumbled through the dirt. The alley afforded some shade as well as cover. The sun couldn't reach down to ground level, the buildings were so close. Aramis staggered as the two musketeers let him go. While Athos went to cover the entrance d'Artagnan stood by watching helplessly. Aramis pulled up his sleeve and brandished his dagger. Without the slightest hesitation he put the tip to his arm.

"Aramis…" d'Artagnan's hands hovered out awkwardly, caught between stopping him and letting him be.

The point dug in and sliced across Aramis' skin. He made no sound, nor did he wince or flinch. The man seemed beyond feeling pain. With a flick of his wrist blood flecked the air. It ran freely from the wound and then Aramis' fingers began to daub across the wall.

"Can't you stop him?!" d'Artagnan shouted.

Athos looked back and replied grimly. "There is no stopping him."

They had tried before. It usually ended in violence. And once, in desperation, Aramis begged them to stop him. So they tied him to a chair, and it had sent him nearly mad. It was better to let him get on with it. The vision would be seen, or it would torture Aramis until it was.

Aramis painted with a frantic focus, the demon was let loose once again. His fingers spread red across the wall and images started to take shape. It was almost easy to forget the musketeer was painting with his own blood. He simply seemed an artist at his canvas. But when Aramis moved to slice his other arm d'Artagnan reached out to stop him. The lad found himself shoved backwards into the opposite wall. He hit hard, with a huff of breath.

"Leave him." Athos' quiet voice wandered down the alleyway.

"But he's hurting himself!"

"We can see to the wounds once he's finished."

d'Artagnan looked away as the dagger drew across flesh once again. It was making him feel quite ill to watch.

Aramis' blood slicked fingers swept ceaselessly across the wall. He was growing pale and d'Artagnan nearly moved to intervene again, though Athos urged him not to. The bloody tableau took shape. And then mercifully Aramis stepped back, nearly collapsing as he came back to himself. d'Artagnan was there, holding him up with steady hands while the mist cleared from his eyes. A scene of chaos spread across the wall. The figures were crudely done, depicted in smeared blood as they were, but they were clearly fighting amongst a storm of flying pages.

Athos came to wrap his scarf around Aramis' wounds. He cast an eye over the wall and looked to his friend. "What is it?"

"It's Ninon… she's in danger." He spoke quietly, as if half in a dream.

Athos' eyes went wide at hearing that. Ninon had been a rock to those with abilities, she helped shelter and relocate so many. If the Cardinal was moving against her she needed to be warned.

"Take him home, Porthos will find you there. I have to go to her."

Aramis snagged Athos' sleeve before he could leave. "Athos… you can't…"

He ran a frantic hand through his hair. "I can't stand by and do nothing!"

"What if by doing something you cause this?" Aramis was more awake now, he fixed Athos with a serious eye.

"I have to try… I have to." He stalked to the end of the alleyway, and turned back. "Take him home, and get rid of this." Athos waved a hand at the wall, casting an eye over the glistening blood before leaving.

**~oOo~**

Ninon's library was destroyed, just as Aramis foresaw. But thankfully Ninon herself was saved. Athos found her before she returned and the musketeers kept her out of the Cardinal's clutches. Together they orchestrated an escape from Paris. The one who had relocated so many was now finding herself being relocated. There was no shortage of contacts willing to help at least. Still, this was another blow against their kind. With Ninon gone more spilled into the Court, and the tension there was like a pot coming to boil. Sooner or later it was going to spill over.

The musketeers were kept occupied with an attempt on the queen's life and the situation with Milady. Just when it seemed they had resolved everything - with the Cardinal put in his place and Milady out of Paris - the queen announced she was with child. At any other time this would be a cause for celebration. But Athos levelled a glare at Aramis. The child was likely his, and it put both their necks on the line.

"How could you be so stupid?!" Athos yelled as he pushed Aramis through the door of his lodgings.

Aramis just hung his head and went to take a seat at the table. Athos set to stalking up and down the room, letting his anger run riot.

"I thought we could forget about what happened. I thought if we kept our tongues, we might be able to keep our heads. But _this_… this changes everything."

"Everyone will think the child belongs to Louis. There is no need for suspicion to fall elsewhere…" Aramis mumbled, feeling shame faced despite his defensive words.

"The Cardinal already suspects-"

"He has no proof, and he won't get it unless one of us talks." Aramis interrupted, a little harshly.

"What if the child has an ability, hm? The Cardinal will know for sure he's not Louis', and he'll come for you solid proof or not." Athos went to stand in front of Aramis, arms crossed, glaring as only he could.

Aramis wouldn't look up. His gaze wandered to the table top where he started tracing lines along the grain with a finger. "He may not manifest them for years... if he does at all."

"Oh, so now you are willing to trust to fate for a change? Just because you were a late bloomer, it does not mean your child will be. I have heard of mere babes developing abilities." Athos made a small sound of frustration and turned his back on Aramis.

Athos stalked over to the window and leaned against the sill with a sigh.

"I'm not-" Aramis was abruptly cut off.

Athos looked over his shoulder to see Aramis sitting bolt upright with his eyes clouded over. Patiently Athos went to retrieve some parchment and ink. He placed them down in front of Aramis and took a seat, watching and waiting for the vision to take hold. Sure enough Aramis' hand darted to the paper and moments later lines started sweeping the page.

Casually, Athos leaned against the tabletop, watching the drawing take shape. There was an unidentifiable maelstrom surrounding a pair of eyes in the middle of the page. The finishing touch was a raised blade reflected in their depths.

When Aramis came back to himself he pushed away from the table, as if needing some distance between him and the drawing, no matter how slight.

"What it is?" Athos looked at him with some worry.

"Fire, and water… and me." Aramis recognised those eyes, he saw them in the mirror each morning.

"Who is wielding the blade?"

"I don't know." Aramis' voice was hollow, and then his head shot up as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Don't tell Porthos."

Athos gave him a questioning look.

"Please don't tell him, I don't want him to know."

"Why not? The more we know the better we will be able to help you."

"You can't, and he'll just worry." Aramis took in a harsh breath and nearly flinched when somebody knocked at the door.

"Speak of the devil. That's probably him."

Athos went to open the door while Aramis hastily screwed up the piece of parchment and thrust it deep into a pocket.

"Where have you been?" Athos asked as Porthos pushed his way in, seeming exasperated.

"An old friend from the Court found me." The large man came to lean against the table and shot a serious look between his two friends. "A resistance is organising. He asked me to go back and lead them."

Athos gave a wide eyed look of surprise. "I hope you told him it was madness."

"I tried to. I told him it would get them all killed and just make it worse for the rest of us. The Cardinal and his ilk hate us because he thinks we're dangerous. It rather proves their point if we rise up bringing death and destruction."

"They hate us because we're different…" Aramis muttered quietly, letting his gaze drift to the table top.

Porthos watched him with a frown before Athos took his attention back. "And did he listen? A resistance, even with abilities, will be no match for the military. They haven't the numbers to prevail."

"It was like talking to a brick wall. Still, he was pretty keen to get me on side, he seemed to think I would turn the tide. I suppose nobody can cause death and destruction like I can." Porthos paused for a mournful moment before clearing his throat and continuing. "I don't know if my refusal will set them back, but something is going to happen. With or without me, something will happen."

Athos gave a heavy sigh. "Is there anybody in the Court who might listen to you?"

"Perhaps one or two, but I think most of them are beyond reason. That place is a wound that has been left to fester for far too long."

"Well, do what you can. I would rather prevent this through reason than force."

Finally Aramis spoke, his voice was faint and his words were vague. "Fire and water... Something is going to happen."

Porthos shot a look to Athos and spoke under his breath. "What's he talking about?"

Athos simply shrugged. "I have no idea."

**~oOo~**

The four men felt in sore need of a drink later that night, and so they retired to their usual spot in the tavern. Still, alcohol could not dispel the cloud that collectively hung above their heads. Aramis did his best to wash it away with wine anyway. Eventually when he started swaying and his words started slurring Porthos decided it was time to take him home. And so Athos and d'Artagnan were left to it. A companionable silence had fallen between them. Athos wasn't much for words, and d'Artagnan was feeling a little drowsy from the drink.

Eventually the lad spoke with a quiet voice too calm for the subject matter at hand. "I feel like I'm living with a sword hanging above my head."

Athos cleared his throat and attempted to sit up a little straighter. "We're all living with swords hanging over our heads. It's just the nature of what we are."

"Me more than most, considering…" The wine had lowered his defences, but d'Artagnan still had enough about him not to speak openly about abilities in a tavern. If anybody overheard him speak of Aramis' vision they would all be before the Cardinal in short order.

"There is time yet, and you more than most need _not_ fear the sword." Athos gave a wry half smile. "You could just pull it out and…"

A look from d'Artagnan stalled that thought.

The quiet between them resumed, only to be broken some time later when Porthos came back into the tavern. He was breathing hard and looked half terrified, half exhausted.

Immediately the warm lull of the the alcohol evaporated. Athos shot up. "What happened?"

"Not here, come with me."

Once they were outside, Porthos started leading them away from the tavern at a fast pace. Athos and d'Artagnan chased after him, a litany of questions on their lips… _Where are we going? Where is Aramis? Are you alright?_

He would not answer any of them until he was satisfied they were entirely alone.

Eventually Porthos slowed down and lowered his voice. "We were set upon by a couple of thieves. I disarmed one and went to chase him off, but I heard a shout and turned to find the other had hold of Aramis. There was a dagger… I just saw red… and it happened."

"What happened, Porthos?" Athos spoke slowly and deliberately.

"I raised my hands and…"

Athos didn't need to hear any more. "_Porthos._" He hissed before taking a deep breath and calming. "It's alright, we can deal with this. Is Aramis in one piece?"

It had soon become apparent that they were heading to Aramis' lodgings.

"I caught him on the arm, left him with it sitting in a bucket of water."

"The body?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I hid it behind some crates and barrels, didn't have time to do anything else. I just got Aramis home and came straight for you." Porthos sucked in a harsh breath and spoke reluctantly. "The one I was fighting… he got away, he saw everything."

Aramis' door stood straight ahead, Athos pushed in without knocking. He was all business now.

"So we have a body to deal with and a witness." Athos went straight over to Aramis, who was kneeling on the floor with his right arm submerged in a bucket. "Let me see."

Aramis shuddered as he raised his arm. Porthos bit his lip and looked away. The flesh was a sore shade of red and blistering horribly.

"I'll be fine." The tight look of pain on his face said otherwise. "Just need to wrap it. I'm fine."

Porthos pushed forwards and went to sit by him. He delicately took Aramis' arm by the elbow. "I'm sorry."

Aramis summoned a weak smile. "Don't be. You saved me."

"I did this to you." Porthos looked wracked with guilt.

"I would rather be a little charred than dead, my friend. I don't blame you, stop blaming yourself."

"Porthos." Athos cut in. "Go with d'Artagnan to fetch a cart."

"I should stop here."

Aramis put a hand to his arm. "They need you to help clear this mess up. Go, I'll be fine."

"If you're sure…" Porthos got to his feet reluctantly.

"I am, just pass me the salve in that cupboard over there. I can tend my own wounds, don't need you to mop my brow." Aramis tried for a grin, but it was twisted by pain.

"Gentlemen?" Athos drew their attention. "Once we've got the body on the cart, d'Artagnan can drive it to the Seine. Porthos, you and I will track down this thief."

"He could be anywhere by now." Porthos growled in frustration.

"Be that as it may, we have to try. Perhaps your old friends can help?"

"They might not want to, considering I just told them they were all mad. Or if they do, I'm going to owe them a favour. A big one." Porthos pinned Athos with a serious look.

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it. Our first priority has to be finding this witness."

d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "And what do we do when we find him?"

"Do the only thing we can to ensure silence." Athos spoke with a hint of regret.

The lad gave him a questioning look.

"Kill him."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"_A musketeer you say?"_

"_Aye! Shot fire out of 'is hands! Never heard such screaming… didn't last long though. God rest 'is soul. Thought you should know. Thought it might be worth something."_

"_Indeed."_

_Clink. Clink._

"_What else do you remember?"_

"_Nothing, that's it."_

"_Come now…"_

"_It was dark, I was distracted, trying to not die and all."_

_Clink. Clink._

"_Well… 'e set 'is friend on fire too. Arm went up in flames. But that's it. That's everything, I swear."_

"_Very well. I have something else for you…"_

"_Oh?"_

_Gasp. Gurgle. _

_Chinkchink chink chink…_

**~oOo~**

"Now this is a representative of the Cardinal, but I want you to treat him with respect. Answer his questions, do your duty." Treville shouted at morning muster.

The four musketeers stood ramrod straight. If they seemed a little more fearful than the others, nobody could tell. Treville had just announced that one of the Cardinal's men was coming to conduct some interviews regarding a recent murder. Athos had a quiet word with the Captain about what happened, but nothing could be done to dissuade the Cardinal. Treville just advised them to concoct a story and stick to it - They went to the tavern, and then to their beds - Simple, and not a complete lie either.

Of the four of them d'Artagnan was called in first. He sweated his way through the interview, but gave nothing away. When the Cardinal's man, Duchamp, commented on his perspiration he blamed it on the heat of the day. It wasn't that hot, but he seemed to get away with it.

Athos passed through the interview with unruffled grace as expected. Porthos too managed to get through without suspicion. His fists were tight and straining on his lap beneath the table, but Duchamp didn't notice.

Aramis swallowed heavily as he was called in to Treville's office. Duchamp motioned for him to take a seat.

"No doubt you know by now that a musketeer was seen at the scene of the crime." Duchamp fixed a cruel eye on Aramis. "And yet none of you were there."

Aramis licked his dry lips. "Have you considered it might have been somebody wearing a stolen uniform?"

"I have considered many things, including the fact that musketeers are good liars. I would be rich if I had a sous for every time I'd heard one of you exclaim you cut down ten men in a fight. Care to tell me where you were that night?"

"With my friends, at the tavern."

"Musketeers make for good drunkards too it seems. What time did you leave the tavern?"

"Nine or ten… I don't recall exactly, I _had_ been drinking."

"And what else don't you recall? Hm? Murdering a man?" Duchamp leaned across the desk, intruding on Aramis' space.

"I think I would remember that much. How did this murder take place?"

"Fire." Duchamp's eyes lit up as he spat the word.

"A novel way to kill a man, and who was the victim?"

At that Duchamp straightened. "I cannot say."

"It would help establish if there was a motive."

"That is not your concern." Duchamp interrupted. "Who were you at the tavern with?"

"I don't recall, there were a few of us. As I said, I had been drinking." Aramis was reluctant to so much as name his friends.

"When you left, where did you go?"

"Straight home."

"And where would that be?"

"A little place not far from Rue Cler." Which was in the opposite direction to where Aramis actually lived. The incident took place on his route home, it would be a red flag to the Cardinal's man. He just hoped Duchamp wouldn't look into it any more closely.

"Let me guess - you saw nothing suspicious at all?"

"No Monsieur."

"Very well, thank you for your time." Duchamp stood and offered his hand to shake.

Aramis took it and gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. To his alarm Duchamp went to clasp Aramis' right arm with his free left, making it an overly friendly handshake. Duchamp's fingers pressed down into sore, tender flesh. Aramis tightened, bit the inside of his cheek, and stifled a small sound of pain.

"What is the matter? Handshake too firm for you, musketeer?" Duchamp said with a cruel grin.

Aramis huffed out a breath. "No… no."

He escaped the room in short order and found his three companions readying their horses in the stable.

"Are you alright?" Porthos gave a nod towards the arm Aramis held tightly to his chest.

"Yes, just an overly enthusiastic handshake. I got through it mostly unscathed anyway. What a terribly vile little man."

Athos took his horse's reins and started leading the mare out. "Quite, but he's going away empty handed, and that's the important thing."

"Where are you off to?"

"d'Artagnan and I to the palace. Porthos to the Court, would you care to accompany him?"

At that Porthos shook his head. "Sorry my friend, while I would be happy to have you there I don't think they would appreciate me bringing somebody else along."

Aramis tried not to look too disappointed.

"I'll check in with Treville then, I'm sure he'll have something for me."

**~oOo~**

"_Ah, Duchamp, have you anything for me?"_

"_Got him. Well, his friend anyway. It's the man named 'Aramis'. He flinched like a stricken dog when I touched his arm. Definitely hurt."_

"_Pick him up then, and do what you have to. I want that name, I want the man who wields fire…"_

"_As you wish, Your Eminence." _

**~oOo~**

Aramis had been sent to patrol the streets. So far he had broken up a fight between two men, and apprehended a thief. The thief in question was little more than a child, he had been seen taking wares from a market. Aramis got them back to the owner and pressed a few coins into the boy's hand. He was sure the items would just be sold for food, the lad looked more in need of a meal than a fine hair brush anyway.

It was getting late and the sun was starting to make its way towards the horizon. Aramis turned his feet back to the garrison, taking the scenic route along the Seine. The dying rays of sunlight danced across the surface of the water and bathed everything in orange. It was the sort of picturesque scene Aramis tried to sear on his memory to recall later when the darkness closed in.

And then Aramis found himself pitching forwards into the dirt. A sudden blow to the head had him reeling. His hands against the ground stopped his descent and a constellation of stars burst behind his eyelids. Aramis looked up and searched for his assailant, only to have two men grab at his arms and pull him towards the river. Aramis' feet scrabbled against the ground, trying desperately to gain purchase and resist the relentless pull of his attackers.

"I haven't much money, but you can take it!" He gasped out, the grip on his right arm was near agonising.

"It's not money we're after." The voice of the large man at his side was hard but untroubled, as if he were used to this kind of work.

"Then what do you want?"

Aramis found himself dragged out of sight under a bridge, his feet dug into the dirt but he still ended up at the water's edge.

One of Aramis' attackers leaned in closely to his ear. "We want to know the name of your fire throwing friend."

"What are you talking about?" He tried to sound completely confused.

"You know exactly what we're talking about." The man holding his right arm took out a dagger and viciously cut through to the bandage. The material was torn away to reveal sore, weeping and blistered skin. "How did you come by this then?"

Aramis hissed as the bandage came away, he grit out his answer. "Accident. I was careless when setting the fire in my lodgings."

The large man backed off and smiled. "I think you're telling the truth. I think it was an accident. But I think you came about it another way. I'll ask one more time - What is your friend's name?"

Something mischievous glinted in Aramis' eye as he looked up to his assailant's face. "All I remember is the name your mother was shouting last night, and it wasn't my friend's."

The man scowled and gave a nod. Aramis tried to pull away, but the two of them mercilessly thrust his face towards the water. Aramis managed to snatch a lungful of air before his head was ducked beneath the surface. He nearly lost it at feeling the sudden cold shock of the water, but Aramis managed to hold his breath. He violently thrashed, trying to loosen the grip of the men clutching his arms. It was no use. He was held fast. Just as the last of Aramis' breath ran out he was pulled up again. As soon as he breached the surface Aramis gasped at the air, gratefully pulling in each lungful.

"Remembered that name yet?"

Aramis glared.

They pushed him back under.

This time he didn't fight. He tried to remain calm and hold on to his breath. Fighting would just burn through it more quickly, but the inevitable moment his lungs gave a spasm came.

And he was pulled up.

He heaved at the air again.

"Nothing?"

Aramis shook his head. And down he went.

He was kept under a little longer, long enough for his burning lungs to drag in a breath of water. When he came up again he let out a great cough and a stream of water burst from his lips.

"Are you ready to tell me yet?"

Through the choking Aramis managed to spit out two words. "Don't… know…"

"Oh, I think you do."

He closed his eyes as he was plunged back down. Over and over they played with him, leaving him under just a little longer each time. Eventually the strength left Aramis entirely, he was nothing but a coughing and choking ragdoll between them. The two men seemed to lose their enjoyment soon after.

Aramis was left gasping weakly on his side as they dropped him carelessly to the ground.

"We're not getting anywhere here, we'll have to take him back, try something different."

There was no warning before a blow to the head sent Aramis into darkness.

It was some time later when he came to awareness. His head hurt and his lungs seared with each breath, blinking heavily brought the room into something approaching focus. Aramis realised he was kneeling on the floor, his two 'friends' held his arms again.

"It's him. Look, his arm is burnt, just as we were told." That voice… he recognised that voice.

Aramis found his right forearm being held out for inspection.

The name came to him from out of the fog. Duchamp! It was that vile little man who had interviewed them.

"Good. Now we just need to get a name out of him."

That was another voice, and it chilled Aramis to the bone. He was shocked out of his stupor and his eyes flew wide to look upon the Cardinal.

"Ah, you're awake. Monsieur Aramis, I want the name of your friend, and make no mistake - I always get what I want. The sooner you give it to me, the sooner you can be released. Otherwise you will be in for a long stay, and it will not be comfortable."

The Cardinal bent slightly to take him about the jaw. Aramis' breath stuttered in. This was the killer of their kind… their executioner, and he was standing over Aramis as plain as day. Aramis almost feared the man would be able to tell what he was. Would a look give him away? Could the Cardinal feel it in his skin? Did the scent of fear permeate the air?

No. He looked at Aramis expecting nothing more than a stubborn soldier.

Still, the Cardinal spoke with a dangerous edge to his words. "Will you tell it to me? It's just a name."

Aramis remained silent and staring. The Cardinal searched his eyes.

It made his skin crawl.

"Very well." Suddenly the Cardinal drew back and turned away, talking to Duchamp over his shoulder. "Get me that name."

And without another word, Aramis was dragged away.

**~oOo~**

The next morning Athos looked around the assembled musketeers with a note of worry. He caught Porthos' gaze and saw the same look in his eyes. Aramis was not there. He hadn't turned up at the tavern last night either.

"Where is he?" Porthos uttered under his breath.

Treville was midflow, barking out the day's duties. The three of them were only half listening.

d'Artagnan was standing between the two of them. "Perhaps he spent the night with a woman and he's overslept?"

Athos shook his head. "No, it's not like him. He always comes for a drink first, and he does not usually miss morning muster. You may not think it at times, but he loves this uniform more than all of the women in Paris."

Their eyes shot forwards as Treville addressed them. "Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan and Aramis - first shift at the palace if you please, second shift on the streets."

Porthos spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "If he hasn't turned up by the time we're done at the palace, I'm going looking for him."

"Agreed."

Hours passed, and there was still no sign of Aramis.

The three of them followed the king from room to room. There was plenty of time to rake over recent events while standing guard outside of doors. Athos' mind kept circling around to Duchamp. The thief they failed to apprehend had clearly informed the Cardinal's men that there was a musketeer with an ability on the loose. He had expected the interviews to be more of a torturous inquisition. The Cardinal was not known for going easy on his suspects. Athos had thought restraint was being used for political reasons. It would not do for the Cardinal to send men in to put undue pressure on the king's very own guard. But Duchamp had not spent long with them, nor did he push terribly hard. While the vile little man couldn't resist getting a dig in now and then he had seemed to border on being friendly at times. He had even shaken Athos' hand like an intimate friend would.

A thought suddenly struck Athos.

The handshake.

_Aramis stepping into the stable, favouring his injured arm._

The thief must have told Duchamp one of the musketeers was burnt in the altercation. This had all been a ruse to find the hurt musketeer. Once they had him they were just one small step away from getting their man.

Athos swore under his breath and explained his deductions to the other two. Porthos seemed to wind tighter and tighter with anger at every word.

"If he's done anything to Aramis…" Porthos growled.

"We need to find him first."

"Duchamp. When I get my hands on him I'll-" Porthos raised a tight fist, only to have Athos' interrupt and place his own hand over it.

"_I'll_ follow Duchamp." Athos gave Porthos a pointed look. "He'll lead me back to Aramis. Once I have a location I'll come for you and we'll get him out together."

When the three of them were relieved from guard duty Porthos and d'Artagnan went to patrol the market place. Athos would be able to find them easily enough there. Athos himself ducked down a quiet corridor of the palace and disappeared from sight. His ability was a most useful one to have when it involved following people. Finding Duchamp was quite straightforward. The man came striding from the Cardinal's quarters and Athos fell into step behind him. Athos was even bold enough to slip inside the carriage he ordered. Thankfully it was spacious enough inside, and there was no risk of knocking into Duchamp. Although it was a very close thing when they hit a pothole. Athos lurched to the right and just managed to stop himself mere inches away from Duchamp. The man yelled angrily at his driver, remaining unaware that he wasn't alone.

Their destination was a large building on the outskirts of Paris. Standing at the door was a guard who opened it wide on seeing Duchamp approach. Athos slipped through just before he drew it closed. They passed by several rooms, varying from spartan to opulent, before descending a set of stairs. The air grew dank around them as they went below ground level. Only candles penetrated the smothering darkness, and then another stench grew stronger. Unwashed bodies and the taint of copper.

Athos' eyes had not yet adjusted to the gloom. He could just make out a row of cells, but Duchamp had stopped between a table and the wall, not leaving enough room for him to get around. He felt sure Aramis was one of the occupants.

"The Cardinal will be here shortly, get them ready. He wants to see them upstairs." Duchamp barked to the guards.

He marched over to the first cell and glared down at the man it held. "Have you got a name out of him yet?"

The guards shook their heads.

"See that you do." Duchamp shifted just enough for Athos to catch sight of Aramis. "Has he had any more... episodes?"

From what could be seen in the dim light, Aramis looked terrible. He was chained to the wall, lying on the ground, trembling slightly. Patches of dried blood clung to his dirty shirt, and his face was dark with bruises.

"One, just after you left."

What were they talking about? Did they mean his visions? The bottom dropped out of Athos' stomach. If they knew Aramis had an ability he would not leave here alive.

"Make sure he is well restrained when you bring him up. We don't know what this is yet."

Duchamp turned to leave and Athos took his place by the bars. He crouched down, lowering himself to Aramis' eye level. Aramis stared, dead eyed, straight in front of him. Athos would have given anything to to reveal himself for just one moment. He longed to whisper an encouraging word, or reach out to touch his friend. Anything to give the beaten man a little hope and strength.

But of course, he couldn't.

Athos had to step aside as one of the guards came forwards to unlock the cell. Another two advanced inside, and Athos' fists clenched when Aramis cried out weakly at their manhandling of him. He offered a token resistance, but it just earned him a hefty cuff about the head.

When they pulled Aramis out of the cell his hands were bound tightly behind his back. One of the guards held a dagger dangerously close to his throat, and for a moment Athos recalled Aramis' last painting - A blade in the depths of his eyes. Ice took Athos' heart. He was meant to go and fetch Porthos and d'Artagnan the minute he had a location, but he couldn't leave now, he had to see Aramis through this.

The guards held Aramis at the bottom of the stairs while they waited for another two men to be brought from the cells. Athos inched forwards and tentatively reached out a hand to settle on Aramis' back. His friend flinched at the contact, making one of the guards frown. Athos wanted to whisper a word or two to let Aramis know he was there. But he dared not risk it. He only hoped Aramis could feel the touch of his brother, and _know_.

The three captives were taken upstairs to a large room with a desk at one end. Bookcases lined the walls and the floor was polished to a neat sheen. Athos took up a position leaning against a window sill. The guards and their charges lined up along the opposite side of the room while Duchamp went to stand beside the desk. They didn't have long to wait before the Cardinal swept in.

"Ah, Duchamp, what have you for me today?" He took a seat and steepled his hands on the table top.

Duchamp beckoned for the first man to be brought forwards with a finger. The guards holding him dragged the man to the middle of the room and forced him to his knees.

"This is Granet, a baker by trade." Duchamp circled around him slowly. "Show His Eminence what you can do, Granet."

The middle aged man stared up defiantly, Duchamp drew a fist back and viciously punched his face.

"I said - Show His Eminence what you can do."

Blood dribbled from between Granet's lips, he hung his head, and then gradually a light seemed to build up from somewhere inside him. It covered every inch of his skin... luminescence.

The Cardinal watched unmoved. "A singularly useless power if ever I saw one. Have him killed."

Duchamp motioned for the guards to take Granet away. As he was being dragged from the room he managed to shout. "Please! I have a wife and child!"

The Cardinal didn't even look up from writing something down at his desk. "Thank you for letting us know. We will be sure to watch your child carefully for any signs of inherited powers. Next."

Duchamp beckoned the next one forwards. "This one was very hard to catch. He is known simply as Le Blanc." With a look from Duchamp the young lad held between the guards melted away into an older man. "We still don't know what he really looks like."

At seeing this the Cardinal rose from his desk and came around for a closer look. He knelt to face the shifter and found himself staring into his own eyes. Le Blanc had eerily emulated the Cardinal in every way.

"How fascinating. Now this one, I _will _take."

The Cardinal's hands shot out and took Le Blanc's face. Immediately the shifter started screaming. A white glow emanated from his chest before crawling up his throat and slamming into the Cardinal. Le Blanc fell back gasping as the Cardinal straightened.

"This will be most useful." The Cardinal held up his hand as if examining it in minute detail. Before their astounded eyes he melted away into King Louis.

By now Athos had relinquished his position against the window and was standing forwards in mute shock. The Cardinal was one of them! All this time they thought he was persecuting those with abilities. He wasn't persecuting. He was _harvesting_.

Le Blanc's gasping frame was removed from the room and Aramis was pulled forwards. Though he was bloody and beaten Aramis' eyes were wide, he stared up at the Cardinal as shocked as Athos was.

"Ah, our musketeer friend." The Cardinal resumed his own features and stood before Aramis. "Have you come up with a name yet? I would dearly like to add fire to my collection."

Aramis weakly tried to pull away, but the guards held him fast.

"No? Duchamp is obviously being too kind to you." A snort came from Duchamp in the background, it was quelled quickly with a glance from the Cardinal. "Well, I'm told you have an ability of your own. Will you show it to me?"

Aramis shook his head.

"Very well." The Cardinal drew back and gave a nod to the guards.

One let go of Aramis and aimed a vicious kick at his ribs. When Aramis opened his mouth it was to cry out, not give a name. While one guard held Aramis the other set in beating him with hands and fists. Athos was white with rage, only a sliver of self control held him back. To intervene would be to reveal himself, and that would mean death. Athos had to clench his fists, grit his teeth, and try to block out the awful sounds of his brother's cries. Eventually Aramis fell silent, but he wasn't unconscious… His eyes had gone white.

Oh no.

Suddenly Aramis fought his guards like a man possessed. Athos knew this was what came of suppressing visions. Chained up Aramis had not been allowed to draw, and they held him back now. It would only get worse. Aramis roared and fought, his guards had to bodily press him down to the ground. They eased off as he began to shake. Aramis trembled in some sort of fit, making awful choking sounds. The men standing around him watched as if they were observing a specimen for study.

"What is this?" The Cardinal asked with curiosity.

"I don't know. I've never seen it before. His eyes. Look at his eyes. He's seeing something else, I'm sure of it." Duchamp crouched down in front of Aramis, getting a closer look, and then he turned to the Cardinal. "Why don't you take it?"

"That is an affliction, not an ability." He said somewhat sniffily.

Gradually Aramis stilled, but his eyes were still clouded over. He seemed to lock onto something up ahead and strained to get at it. All the men in the room followed his gaze. It pointed at the desk. Duchamp wandered over and perused the items on the tabletop, there was nothing but stacks of papers and an inkwell. With a shrug he brought some paper and the ink over and sure enough Aramis pulled forwards, whining deep in his throat.

"Release him, see what he does." The Cardinal directed.

One guard loosed Aramis' bonds, while the other moved in a bit closer with the dagger.

At that, Athos bristled.

And then Aramis fell upon the paper like a starved man falls on food. His damaged hands trembled but they set to sketching tirelessly as they always did. Athos allowed himself to drift a little closer, until he could see what scene was taking shape.

Flames… a backdrop of flames wreathed the Cardinal who stood roaring with his hands aloft, bodies scattered about at his feet.

With the sketch done, the quill dropped from Aramis fingers. He fell to the floor along with it. His cheek pressed against the cold ground and he panted as if he had run a mile. Gradually the white cleared from his eyes. When it did Duchamp pulled him up to his knees with a fist full of hair.

"What is this?" He growled at Aramis' ear.

"The future." Aramis managed to gasp.

The Cardinal raised an eyebrow. "It is a blasphemous power. Only God should know the path before us."

"We all wield powers only God should possess." Aramis managed to fix the Cardinal with a baleful glare, even as he flinched at the hard grip on his hair. "We have the power of Gods, but that does not mean we get to play God."

The Cardinal gave a tight smile. "Monsieur Aramis, I am God's representative on earth, if anybody is to play God it will be me. I have no love for you or your kind. On the contrary, I intend to scour you all from these lands, and make no mistake - I have the power to do it."

"But you're one of us!" Aramis shouted.

"And when you are gone the rest of humanity will look to me as a God amongst men. I will be their saviour, turning back a dangerous threat. Powers are not to be wielded lightly. The people of France cannot be safe when any miscreant from the Court might be granted the ability to cause death and destruction with a snap of their fingers."

"So you are doing this for the good of France…" Aramis gave a broken laugh. "How much death and destruction have _you_ caused for the 'good' of France?"

The Cardinal fixed him with a cold stare. "Just as much as is necessary."

He bent to pick up Aramis' picture, and then he swept back over to his desk. "Take him back. Duchamp, I want that name."

"Yes Your Eminence."

Athos released the breath he had been holding when the guards went to manhandle Aramis back down to his cell.

He had to get Porthos and d'Artagnan.

Athos had not expected to find anything good here, but this was so much worse...


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The three musketeers stood outside watching the building where Aramis was being held.

Athos had run back to the market and breathlessly filled Porthos and d'Artagnan in on what had occurred. They were similarly shocked to hear the Cardinal was one of them, and Porthos was near incandescent with rage at hearing Aramis was hurt.

The musketeers returned and waited for the Cardinal to leave. Who knew how many dangerous powers the Cardinal had stolen? They did not want to face him if they could avoid it.

As soon as the Cardinal was safely away in his carriage, Athos disappeared and knocked out the guard at the door. They advanced cautiously, with Athos checking the way was clear before the others followed. He found most of the guards gathered in a small room, drinking and playing cards. The raucous noise and bellowing laughter would mask any small sounds they made. But there were others patrolling up and down the corridors. Athos directed his companions to duck into a side room whenever a guard approached. Having an invisible man on point was most useful.

As they made their way down the stairs, cries of pain echoed up at them. Porthos growled and pushed forwards at recognising Aramis' voice, but Athos and d'Artagnan held him back.

"Let me…" Athos whispered.

He went down to the cells. Two guards were in with Aramis, he looked in bad shape. One guard pressed him against the wall with an arm against his throat. The other pinned Aramis' hand to the wall with a dagger through the palm. His eyes were wide, and he shouted with a ragged voice. "NO!"

Duchamp dozed at the table outside. Athos scowled, wondering what sort of a man could sleep through such sounds of agony.

"Give us a name." The guard's voice filtered over as Athos approached Duchamp.

Aramis cried out.

"No!"

Athos slipped his pistol out and aimed the butt at Duchamp's head. He timed the blow with Aramis' next scream. The impact went unheard, and Duchamp slumped further across the table.

"What is your friend's name?"

Another yell.

"No…"

His voice was getting weaker.

Athos approached the cell and slipped inside. Slowly he unsheathed his dagger and calmly slashed the first guard's throat. The second spun around with alarm, but he turned straight into the point Athos held out and impaled himself in the gut. It took a long time to bleed out from gut wounds, and so Athos slit his throat too. It was an act of mercy, and they did not want him calling out to alert anybody while he lay there dying.

Athos materialised in front of Aramis, who dropped to his knees whispering an endless litany of 'thank you'.

"It's alright, we'll get you out of here." Athos took a moment to kneel and put a hand to his friend's face before going to fetch the other two.

Porthos and d'Artagnan rushed down on Athos' signal. While Athos went to retrieve the keys from Duchamp d'Artagnan watched the stairs, and Porthos made his way to Aramis. Athos returned to find the large man cradling his friend and running a comforting hand through his hair.

"We found you." Porthos whispered. "You're safe now, I won't let them touch you again."

After releasing Aramis from his chains they used strips of shirt to wrap what wounds they could. He had a couple of broken fingers, broken ribs, and numerous cuts and bruises to tend. The poor man made such sounds of pain when they got him to his feet. Porthos couldn't help but growl at the damage done to his friend.

"Get d'Artagnan out…" Aramis whispered with a hoarse voice.

"What do you mean?" Athos ducked under his arm and made to move him out of the cell.

Aramis swallowed. "The Cardinal… takes abilities. My vision… d'Artagnan, dead. Get him out."

Of course. They had wondered how a man with d'Artagnan's ability could die. The answer was all too clear now - He could have that ability taken away.

d'Artagnan ducked under Aramis' other arm when he was free of the cell. The lad's voice was taut, as if masking a note of fear. "Why don't we _all_ get out of here, hm?"

Porthos led the way, he beckoned them on up the stairs. They moved slowly, trying their best not to jar Aramis. With the injured man between them, getting out would not be as easy as getting in. Still, they managed to avoid any patrolling guards. The only difficulty came when they approached the room most of the guards were gathered in. They had quietened down. Porthos held his breath and inched his way past the half open door. But just when the others made their attempt a guard threw the door open. They all stood staring at each other for an awkward moment. And then chaos erupted.

"Escape! Prisoner escape!" The guard bellowed.

Porthos rushed at him, barging him back into the room. It gave Athos and d'Artagnan enough time to prop Aramis against the wall before drawing their weapons and entering the fray. Guards streamed out of the room, beating them back. Porthos found himself pushed towards the door while Athos and d'Artagnan were pushed back the way they had come. A throng of guards stood between them. A couple fell to musketeer blades, but there were plenty more to take their place.

Aramis managed to crawl a little further out of the way. Too late he spotted a rather wobbly Duchamp approaching down the corridor.

"d'Artagnan!" Aramis called out.

A twisted grin lit up Duchamp's face as he advanced towards d'Artagnan's back. The lad turned to meet his blade but found a rapier thrust through his middle instead. His eyes blew wide and his mouth hung open with shock and pain. Duchamp wasted no time, he withdrew his blade and threw d'Artagnan to one side, but instead of joining the fray he reached for Aramis…

Athos caught sight of Porthos swinging his schiavona near the door. There was only one thing for it… "Porthos! RUN!"

He seemed to hesitate for just a moment before seeing sense and running. The only hope they had was at least one of them getting out. If he could get away and alert Treville there was a chance something could be done. As it was they were seriously outnumbered and losing ground fast. A contingent of guards set off after Porthos while the rest surrounded Athos. He still fought like a man possessed.

"ENOUGH!" Duchamp's voice bellowed.

All action ceased and all eyes turned to him. The vile little man had his rapier at Aramis' throat.

"Drop your weapon." He directed at Athos.

With a growl his sword clattered to the ground.

And then there was a horrendous gasp as d'Artagnan came back to life.

Duchamp near enough jumped three feet in the air and trained his blade on d'Artagnan, who was pushing himself up a little groggily.

"I stabbed you… Ran you straight through… You were dead. You should be dead!" Duchamp gasped in disbelief.

d'Artagnan just blinked up at him.

Duchamp took a step forwards and whipped his rapier across d'Artagnan's cheek. He watched in wonder as the red line scabbed over and disappeared in a matter of moments. A wide grin replaced the wonder on his face.

"Rouzet, send for the Cardinal. Tell him I've got something better than a fire wielder."

**~oOo~**

They found themselves back in the cells. Athos refused to be separated from Aramis and so they were carelessly thrown in the same one. Aramis lay with his head on Athos' lap, curled up, trembling slightly.

"Save the Gascon…"

Athos idly ran his hand through Aramis' hair. "Porthos will come."

"You have to save the Gascon…"

"We will, once Treville knows what's happening he'll send the regiment for us."

"Can't let the Cardinal take his ability... He'll be unstoppable… and d'Artagnan can't…"

"Hush, save your strength."

At that Aramis fell silent, save for slight sounds of suffering when he moved and jarred his injuries. As the hours passed by the remnant of shirt wrapped around Aramis' hand became sodden with blood, and so Athos delicately rewrapped it. While he did so he looked over at d'Artagnan. The lad hadn't said a word, he was pressed into the corner of his cell with his knees drawn up to his chin, staring at nothing.

"d'Artagnan, are you alright?"

He gave a hollow laugh. "I'm in one piece. You know I am."

"That's not what I meant."

They were interrupted by Duchamp's heavy footsteps on the stairs. Slowly he approached the cells and stalked over to d'Artagnan's cage. "I'll be richly rewarded for finding you boy. What a power to have! Healing and immunity from death, His Eminence will be most pleased."

He came to leer over Athos and Aramis next. Aramis just turned away, moving to face Athos instead. Athos met the man's eyes and tightened his grip on his friend.

"Are you one of them as well? Is this the musketeer's little powers force then? What can you do? I've already got you caged, you might as well tell me."

Athos remained silent, simply giving the man one of his best glares.

"Are you the fire wielder? Or is he the one that escaped? Let me guess… I was knocked out very stealthily, and one of you killed two of my guards before they had the chance to even reach for their weapons. Have you got the power of speed? Teleportation? Can you walk through walls? Or turn invisible?"

"You'll never know." Athos said evenly.

Duchamp gave a slight grin. "I always get to know."

Athos managed a wry grin of his own. "All I can promise you is that one day you will be minding your own business. Perhaps you will be walking the market, or the palace corridors, maybe even standing in front of these bars, and you will look down to find my blade protruding through your chest."

Duchamp seemed unperturbed. "You have to get out of that cell first."

"All in good time."

He went to sit at the table and started picking at his nails with a dagger. "Well, the Cardinal will be here shortly. He'll take whatever you've got to offer."

"That's if Treville doesn't reach us first."

"Are you a betting man Monsieur?"

"Not really."

"Shame." Duchamp sat up and took the dagger in his fist. "We shall have to find some way to pass the time…"

When Duchamp got to his feet, Athos clutched Aramis tightly to his chest.

**~oOo~**

Porthos ran through the streets, his lungs heaving, and his eyes tearing up. He had just left his brothers in the clutches of the Cardinal's men. After promising Aramis they would not touch him again as well! Anger burned through him so hotly. Porthos didn't notice when sparks began to jump from his fingers, he was so intent on his mission. He had to hurry, he had to be quick. They were going to kill his brothers. The Cardinal wanted to take their powers and destroy them all. Suddenly Porthos realised this had gone beyond just saving his brothers. They would never be safe as long as the Cardinal stood alive and unchallenged. The Cardinal had to be taken down.

Horror took Porthos' heart and lent strength to his limbs. He needed to do this before the Cardinal could lay his hands on d'Artagnan. If the Cardinal managed to acquire d'Artagnan's ability it was all over. The world would burn. Aramis had seen it. Porthos needed enough might to take down the Cardinal...

He slammed to a halt, reaching his destination.

It was not the garrison.

**~oOo~**

Athos' head was still reeling from Duchamp's blow. He had refused to relinquish Aramis and so he had been beaten until his hands let go. d'Artagnan reached through the bars from his own cell and shook Athos' shoulder.

"Athos… wake up! Do something!"

Suddenly he came to and shakily shot over to the door of his cage.

Duchamp had Aramis bent over the table backwards. He leaned heavily on Aramis chest and held the dagger aloft over his head. A cruel grin twisted the man's features as he brought the blade down viciously to stab into the table inches away from Aramis' face. He wrenched it out and stabbed down on the other side of Aramis' head. The prone musketeer flinched away at every blow.

"Leave him!" Athos shouted. His heart was in his throat. He remembered seeing Aramis' painting of his eyes and a brandished blade. Was this it? He had to stop it!

"We're just having a bit of fun…"

Another stab. Another whimper.

"Take me instead!"

"I can't hurt you until the Cardinal's seen you. Your power might be of use. This one here…" Duchamp pressed down on Aramis' abused chest and drew out a strangled cry as it jarred his ribs. "This one is useless. I've been told I can kill him."

"But he sees the future! That must be useful surely?"

"The Cardinal doesn't want that affliction. And he has already seen the Cardinal's victory. There is nothing else we need to know. Only his silence kept him alive, but now we have you. I don't need to be careful any more."

The dagger came down and pierced Aramis' already damaged hand. He cried out and writhed under Duchamp's firm hold.

"Take me!" d'Artagnan was up at his bars shouting now. "You can cut me as much as you like, again and again."

"Sit down, d'Artagnan." Athos hissed. "Don't do this."

But d'Artagnan paid no attention to his words. "Please, you can turn that blade on me and I'll heal. You can have as much fun as you like."

Duchamp looked up at him with feigned confusion. "But where would the fun in that be? I cut to hurt… I don't want to leave flesh unmarred." He sat back and Aramis heaved in a breath when the pressure from his chest let up. "I like to see it bleed."

Duchamp whipped the dagger across Aramis' chest and blood flecked the air in it's wake.

Aramis gave a yell and shot up from the table. Duchamp pushed him back down and his head cracked sickeningly against the table top.

And then mercifully the door at the top of the stairs opened. "Duchamp! Get up here _now_!"

Smoke unfurled through the open door, but from his position in the cell, Athos couldn't see anything.

"Duchamp! FIRE!"

With a curse Duchamp pulled Aramis up from the table and thrust him back in the cell. Athos caught him and gently lowered the hurt musketeer to the ground. He started ripping strips of shirt off and pressing them to Aramis' fresh wounds.

"Athos, he didn't lock your cell!" d'Artagnan excitedly shouted.

Sure enough, Duchamp had departed in such a hurry he had slammed the door closed without properly locking it. Carefully Athos laid Aramis down and went to push it open. He whispered a silent prayer at seeing the keys had been left on the table. Athos retrieved them, sickly noting the table was spotted with blood, and went to free d'Artagnan.

Once they had Aramis on his feet the lad darted up the stairs to see that the coast was clear. It was not entirely clear, men were bent over coughing in the corridor, the place was filled with smoke. The guards wouldn't present much of a problem like this, but getting out was not going to be so easy.

d'Artagnan went to help get Aramis up the stairs. When they reached the top the guards were out cold. Flames licked the walls, the building was being engulfed! All three started coughing uncontrollably as the smoke hit their lungs. Aramis groaned while he choked, the action being hell on his ribs. And then a figure loomed through the smoke. He was entirely on fire, flames streamed from his skin and reached for the ceiling. His eyes were pinpoints of smouldering light, like white hot embers. As they squinted, shielding their eyes from the blaze, they could just make out Porthos beneath it all.

"Get out!" Porthos pointed down the corridor. His voice cracked like the burning wood of a forest fire.

They ran in the direction Porthos indicated and moments later they burst out into fresh air. All three hit the ground gasping and choking.

Athos turned back to look at the burning building. It was entirely engulfed in flames. The roar of the fire was near deafening and waves of heat blasted the air. Around them lay a few guards, similarly heaving in laboured breaths after attempting to escape Porthos' wrath. Moments later the man himself came to loom in the doorway.

At the sight of him, the remaining guards scrabbled to their feet and lurched away as fast as they could. Porthos roared and launched a ball of fire at each one. They hit the ground and writhed, screaming and burning.

"Porthos?" Athos managed, between coughs.

He approached slowly, still wreathed in flame. It died slightly as he neared them.

Athos reached out to his friend.

"Don't touch me!" Porthos barked. His eyes were still nothing but embers.

A note of fear unfurled in Athos' heart. "Porthos, you can stop now." He paused to hack a cough. "We're free. You saved us, it's over."

"It's not over. Not yet." Porthos looked to the rest of the city, and began to stalk away.

Athos' eyes were drawn from the inferno to follow his friend. It was then he realised points of smoke also rose on the horizon, and beyond the roar of the fire came the echoes of distant screams.

Something caught in Athos' throat as he watched with horror, and then he felt a hand touch his own. Athos looked down to meet Aramis' eyes. They shone and reflected the raging fire against the night. A sorrowful understanding passed between them.

The end had come. It was just as Aramis had foreseen, and Porthos was the one who was going to end it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note**: And so we come to the final chapter. A big thank you to everyone who has taken an interest in this story, I appreciate every single one of you :)

Quotes from Les Friction's "Louder Than Words".

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_No one could outrun the crash  
It was all reduced to rubble  
And then again to ash_

"_Lazard. You came to me not so long ago, you asked me to lead your resistance."_

"_You said it couldn't be done, Porthos… You said we would all be killed."_

"_I was wrong. Gather them, and follow me."_

**~oOo~**

Porthos stalked the streets wreathed in flames. Any guards in his way were consumed by fire. Nearby buildings caught alight. He didn't care, anger scorched his heart as fiercely as any fire. Nothing would get in his way. To either side of him denizens of the court fought and fell. Their sacrifices would be remembered, and worth it.

Having left chaos in his wake Porthos reached his destination. The palace loomed large before him. No doubt the Cardinal would be ensconced within, sending men to die while he sat safely inside. Porthos approached the door and raised a hand. It blasted off its hinges, scorched and warped. He stormed inside. Men and women screamed and fled before him, a brave guard or two tried to stop his advance but they didn't get far. The very air blistered as Porthos walked the corridors. His footsteps blackened the polished floors. Draperies and paintings along the walls burst into flame at his passing. He broke the door to the Cardinal's chambers apart, but inside it was empty…

Porthos went to look out of the window. Paris was burning before his eyes. But he had only one thought - the Cardinal was out there somewhere. And Porthos would find him.

**~oOo~**

Athos and d'Artagnan struggled through the streets with Aramis between them. They had to keep ducking out of the way as glass from nearby burning buildings shattered and sprayed. The fighting had passed through here, the streets were empty but for the occasional fleeing citizen. Though the battle had moved on the scars and damage were plain to see, buildings burned while others were partially destroyed, the city would be reduced to rubble and ash.

As the musketeers hurried past a burning church, Aramis' breath caught in his throat. He looked down to see stained glass littering the ground. Their feet crunched over the shattered remnants of saints. Aramis whispered a quick prayer. He already felt like he was in hell, the pain and the endless streets of fire spoke of the abyss.

"Where are we going?!" d'Artagnan shouted over the surrounding maelstrom.

Athos hesitated as if he were unsure of the answer. "To find Porthos."

At hearing that Aramis tried to dig his feet in and stall them. "No… no… get d'Artagnan somewhere safe…"

"Where do you think is safe?! The entire city is burning if you hadn't noticed!" Athos let himself lose his head for one moment before getting a handle on his panic. "Look… this is Porthos' doing. If we can get him to stop, he might be able to pull his people back. We might be able to save something."

d'Artagnan looked around sadly. "I don't think there's much left to save…"

They continued on and soon enough sounds of fighting reached them. The musketeers rounded a corner to find the marketplace had turned into something of a battlefield. At one end stood a row of guards in formation, trying to press forwards against two men and a woman with abilities. Stalls lay twisted and broken to each side amidst the chaos. The guards advanced upon them and then the woman pushed a couple back with a forceful blast of air. One of the men disappeared, only to reappear behind their lines, stab a guard and flash back to his original position. The final Court denizen dodged a sword to touch his opponent and freeze him solid. They had stood their ground remarkably well, but they were seriously outnumbered.

"We have to do something…" d'Artagnan muttered as they pressed themselves against a wall out of sight.

Gently they lowered Aramis down to the ground and tried to catch their breath.

"What can we do?" Athos replied morosely.

"Fight!"

"And who shall we fight? Which side are we trying to stop here? You think we should join those with abilities? They're destroying everything!"

d'Artagnan came to face Athos then, placing his hands on the older man's shoulders. "What happens if we manage to stop Porthos? What happens if we pull back those men out there with abilities, hm? The Cardinal will have what he wants - free rein to kill us all. This is the moment we have to push forwards, Athos. This is the moment we end the threat!"

"We are just proving that we are the threat! The city will lie in ruins! Even if the Cardinal dies today, do you think the King will let this pass? Do you think he will extend the hand of friendship _now_?" Athos raised a hand to indicate the surrounding destruction.

"Athos, you have always been one to hide, but now is not the time to lay low, it is the time to fight! Whatever comes after, we can deal with it. The King may not want to listen, but together we can make him listen."

Athos made an exasperated sound. "These things cannot be forced. You are being naive!"

d'Artagnan gave a sad smile. "I like to think I'm being brave."

And then he let go of Athos and dashed into the fray.

"d'Artagnan!"

But it was too late, he was gone.

Athos felt a hand weakly pull at his arm. He looked down to Aramis' pleading eyes.

"Go after him… bring him back…"

Athos sighed. "I'll try."

He drew his sword and disappeared.

**~oOo~**

Once Athos vanished Aramis found himself alone, leaning against the wall, head hanging down. The sounds of fighting and screaming mingled with the roar of surrounding fire. Everything hurt. It was tempting to just shut his eyes and drift away, but something kept Aramis awake. His friends were in danger, and though he could do little to help he didn't want to lie unconscious and unaware. He concentrated on breathing. Smoke tainted the air he brought in, leading him to wheeze against painful ribs, but at least he had something to focus on.

And then a pair of feet stepped into his line of sight, giving him something else to focus on.

"Ah, Aramis isn't it?"

Aramis' bleary eyes wandered up to take in the face of the Cardinal, glaring down at him. An icy hand took his heart.

"Ath-" Aramis was about to shout for his friends, but an outstretched hand from the Cardinal abruptly cut his breath off.

"None of that now. I just came to talk… I believe you said I couldn't play God."

"I said you _shouldn't_." Aramis interrupted.

"Well, now you will get to see me play God on a grand scale. Here begins the scouring I spoke of. Until now I have picked you off one by one, but there is no need to hold back any more. You have pushed my hand to your own demise. Perhaps I will leave you alive until the very last so you might see my total and complete victory." The Cardinal reached down to take a hard grip on Aramis' arm. "Come, I'll start with your friends."

He dragged Aramis out into the marketplace with a strength he shouldn't possess. Such was the chaos their entrance hadn't been noticed. Aramis was thrust down by some broken stalls, and he watched in horror as the Cardinal went to snatch at the man who had been freezing guards. He yelled in agony as the power passed over, and then the Cardinal wrenched the neck of his victim. The screaming ceased abruptly.

"d'Artagnan!" Aramis shouted hoarsely.

He couldn't be heard over the clamour, and he couldn't tell where Athos was. Aramis growled in frustration. The lad needed to get out of there _now_.

By now the Cardinal's entrance had been noticed, but the fighting didn't cease. The Cardinal simply held out his hands and a stream of lightning spread from his fingers to strike d'Artagnan and the two others from the Court still standing... They were not standing any longer. Silence suddenly fell, save for the endless roar of the surrounding fire. The remaining guards watched the Cardinal with wonder, awe, and a little fear. But he did not address them, instead he turned to Aramis bearing a self satisfied look.

It fell away at a cough from d'Artagnan.

"No… no!" Aramis tried to shout as the Cardinal turned his attention to the lad.

d'Artagnan blinked his way to wakefulness and struggled to sit up.

"What have we here? The healer is it?" He stalked towards d'Artagnan.

Aramis tried to get to his feet. He only made it a couple of steps, and then he fell back shielding his eyes as a blast of fire suddenly shot the Cardinal sideways.

Porthos!

He was still wreathed in flame as he stepped into the middle of the marketplace. The Cardinal got to his feet, he had covered himself in ice which had melted, leaving him dripping. Porthos raised his hands sending another fireball at the Cardinal, but he was ready for it. The Cardinal frosted the air before him and the two forces dashed against each other, dissipating away. Porthos growled and rushed forwards, lashing out with a burning fist. It was dodged and then caught and iced over by the Cardinal. The ice quickly evaporated away into steam.

Porthos roared, seeming beyond rational conversation now the object of his ire stood before him. Blows went back and forth. Fire against ice, which turned to water and steam. The Cardinal had yet to strike out and dampen Porthos' flames with his new found ability. Porthos was a force to be reckoned with, and the Cardinal was not used to fighting in this way. He usually got others to do the fighting for him. Still, the Cardinal had other powers to draw upon. It wasn't long before he ceased trying to oppose Porthos' element and sent out tendrils of lightning.

As the lightning hit its mark Porthos cried out and fell back, shaking on the ground.

"Porthos!" Aramis managed to shout, while trying desperately to gain his feet.

The Cardinal advanced upon Porthos and smiled cruelly as he held out his hands. Slowly he covered the man in ice, the flames that wreathed him from head to toe died as his flesh began to freeze. But d'Artagnan had got up now.

"d'Artagnan! Run! Get out of here!" Aramis yelled.

Of course he didn't, and Aramis' shout only served to draw the Cardinal's attention.

He tried again. "d'Artagnan, you fool! GO!"

The Cardinal held out a hand and blasted d'Artagnan to the ground. He skidded along the floor and came to rest against a pile of bodies. They were the remains of guards, but there was no time to be horrified. He was trapped. The lad's fingers twitched to reach a discarded sword that lay just out of reach.

"You should have listened to him. You should have run away, like the scared little boy you are. It's all over now."

The Cardinal stalked towards d'Artagnan. And then suddenly Aramis scrambled between them, skidding to take up the fallen sword. He trembled on his knees, unable to stand, but he brandished the rapier's point at the Cardinal's face.

"You won't have him." Aramis glared with a look of such wrath.

"And you think you can stop me? On your knees, with nothing but a sword and the power to see the future? You've already seen this moment. Look around you." The Cardinal held his hands aloft, waving them at the burning city. "Fire! And here I stand amongst scattered bodies at the moment of my victory!"

The Cardinal reached forwards with an outstretched iced over hand and the sword was violently wrenched from Aramis' grip. It flew over to the Cardinal and the blade was turned against him. As the ice began to melt around the hilt Aramis realised he _had_ seen this moment… Fire and water, and the point of a sword. It was over.

Aramis let his hands drop to his sides, he raised his head and bore his chest for the killing blow.

Once he was dead the Cardinal would take d'Artagnan's power amidst the ruins of their city.

You couldn't fight the future.

Aramis closed his eyes. He dragged in breath after breath, wondering which would be his last.

And then the Cardinal gave a blood curdling scream.

Aramis' eyes shot open to see the sword fall from his grip. It clattered against the ground. The Cardinal's face was fixed in an expression of pain and horror, tainted by disbelief. From out of the ether the point of another blade appeared, protruding from his chest. And then, behind him, Athos materialised. He wrenched the blade out with a roar.

The Cardinal fell gracelessly to the ground, and Athos stood there, breathing hard, his face flecked with blood.

Aramis stared up at Athos, stunned, and then he felt d'Artagnan's gentle hand at his back.

For a moment they stood frozen, breathing harshly, with the Cardinal's body lying still between them. They looked at each other without speaking, struggling to process the fact they were alive and he was dead. Once the disbelief passed the relief was near overwhelming. The days to come would be a trial, but for now, in this short moment they could savour their victory.

The brief calm was shattered by a full throated growl from the other side of the marketplace. Porthos had woken and was pushing to his hands and knees. The Cardinal's ice had melted leaving Porthos shuddering with sparks flying from his flesh. He gave the impression of struggling against something unseen. As Porthos got to his feet his hands set alight and slowly the flames started spreading up his arms.

"Porthos…" Athos said his name as a warning. "Let it go."

But his eyes turned to white hot embers again as the fire spread. His voice wavered. "I can't."

"You're in control. You can stop it."

Porthos' gaze wandered around the destroyed marketplace and over the twisted bodies. He shuddered in a cracked breath. "I did this."

"And it is done, there is no more need for bloodshed. Take control." Athos kept his voice even, trying to break through to his friend.

"There is no control. Fire burns, fire consumes. It _cannot_ be controlled." Porthos closed his eyes and trembled as the fire crawled along his flesh. "I was a fool to think I could unleash this force and remain untouched."

d'Artagnan helped Aramis to his feet. He reached a hand out to his friend. "You controlled it before, you can do this Porthos."

"It was an illusion, this was always going to happen, it was always meant to happen." Porthos growled and seemed to strain against the fire. "Get away from me!"

"You won't hurt us." Aramis whispered faintly.

Porthos abruptly drew his schiavona and threw it at their feet. "End it! This is the only way, I cannot hold it back! End it! Please!"

The fire flared around Porthos and between one breath and the next he was completely taken over.

Aramis pushed the blade to one side with his foot and then with halting steps he crossed the marketplace towards his friend. "You won't hurt me."

"Stay back! Don't touch me!" Porthos raised his hands in warning, trying to keep Aramis away.

But Aramis defiantly reached out and took Porthos' hand with his own.

Porthos made to snatch his hand away, but the fire suddenly retreated, leaving their entwined fingers untouched. He stared at them in disbelief.

Aramis looked up at Porthos earnestly and moved in to embrace his friend. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

Porthos fought the instinct to pull away, and he shuddered as the flames petered out. Exhaustion hit him all at once and he sank to the ground together with Aramis. Moments later d'Artagnan dragged Athos down towards the other two and they collapsed against each other. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said.

It was over.

And they lived.

**~oOo~**

The King stood at the window, surveying his city of ruins. Work was just starting on clearing the rubble and ash away.

Treville stood by him, and the four musketeers lined the wall on guard.

"We shall rebuild, Treville. A greater Paris shall emerge from the dust, a Paris of my own making."

"Indeed, Your Majesty. This is a chance for you to make a mark on the history of France."

"But what to do about the people who caused this destruction… Have you any thoughts Treville?"

Porthos swallowed heavily and stood a little straighter.

"This came about through oppression Your Majesty. I suggest a light handed approach would be best."

"And yet there are lives lost and many homes and businesses destroyed. Justice will be sought, and these people are clearly a danger. Perhaps we need to look at locking them up."

"Your Majesty, if I am permitted to speak plainly…" The King gave a nod. "They are not _all_ a danger, many were pushed to it. They would have lived peacefully if they did not feel threatened. These people can protect as well as destroy."

Treville held a hand out to the musketeers, drawing the King's attention.

"It's alright, show him."

Porthos gave a slight shake of the head. He felt guilty for what he had done. He felt he had lost himself to the destruction he had fought so hard against. It would take time, but eventually he would come to remember the good his hands had wrought.

Instead Athos stepped forwards and turned invisible. At a gasp from the King he reappeared. d'Artagnan demonstrated his ability next, with a cut to the palm that healed over in an instant. Aramis, of course, could not summon his ability so easily. He stood stiffly and uncomfortably, still healing from his ordeal. Porthos had tried to keep him in bed, but Aramis wanted to be here for this.

"Your Majesty, these men have devoted themselves to protecting you. They would give their lives to preserve your own. They do not deserve to be persecuted as criminals and locked away."

"Yes… well, maybe I shall have a rethink."

**~oOo~**

Duchamp hurried around the Cardinal's chambers, snatching up papers, and casting them into the fire. There was information here for nobody's eyes but the Cardinal's. Now the man was dead it all had to be destroyed before a successor could come in.

He threw another sheaf of papers into the fire and crouched down to watch them crumple and burn. And then Duchamp gave a choked off cry. Before the flames a blade shone, slick with his own blood, protruding grotesquely from his chest.

An unseen voice whispered at his ear.

"I keep my promises."

**~oOo~**

_A few years later…_

It was a bright summer's day when the Dauphin played on the lawn under the watchful gaze of his nursemaid. She sat on a blanket, setting out a few bits for them to eat.

There was a nearby fountain, decorative and elaborate, with cherubs shooting water from trumpets held aloft. The water was most enticing to a mischievous little boy. Despite the warnings from his nursemaid to be careful, the Dauphin scrambled onto the ledge and dipped his feet in the water. She rushed over and gave a relieved sigh at seeing it was not deep. Still, she cautioned him not to slip on the shining marble surface.

Just as she turned her back to return to the blanket, the Dauphin got to his feet and tottered on the ledge. His wet feet slipped and he stepped backwards into thin air.

He didn't fall.

He hung there, suspended in midair.

And then with a laugh the Dauphin's feet set down on solid ground. The nursemaid looked up with a smile as he ran towards her beaming with outstretched arms.


End file.
